


I Want to Live in Your House (And Make My Home)

by poisontaster



Series: Sex Pollen [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath, Dom/sub, Ficlet, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-05
Updated: 2007-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-26 15:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5010367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is all that Dean wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want to Live in Your House (And Make My Home)

He'd be lying in the wet spot if Sam hadn't manhandled him over, too spent to even worry about whether he's going to end up glued to the sheet in the morning. These are his favorite times, though he lacks the words to describe why: face down and half-unconscious with sleep, warmed by the heat of his bruised and abraded wrists, his spanked ass and the deep heartbeat throb that had been Sam, deep inside him.

He can smell himself and smell Sam on him, different from the clean sweat of digging graves or running or climbing. It's a smell like a lullaby, wrapping him cocoon thick and soothing him down. Between his legs is wetness, the glisten of lube and the strange, slow trickle of Sam's semen, almost-ticklish. Dean's always been the one who showers more, a worship of hot water and thick bubbling soap and shampoo mohawks, but after Sam's had him, he's content to lie like this, marked and stained, still flexing in slow, rolling waves to keep the feeling for as long as it lasts.

He is open: his head, the lockbox of his heart, his ass, pleasantly bled out across the sheets and filled instead with something else. Something only Sam can give him…and here again, Dean's words fail and he can only wonder if there even _is_ a word for this, in all Sam's books and computer bookmarks and the huge library of his brain. He wonders if there's a word for this in all the world, because it seems too big for that. Or maybe too small, specific only to Dean Winchester, fucked silly on a motel mattress and fading toward sleep…

The touch of Sam's hand on his ass rouses him, lifting Dean's head from the pillow, making his hole clench in both remembered and anticipated pleasure. Through bleary eyes, he sees Sam smile and he feels the tension slack from his spine like a rope going loose. "You going to sleep?" Sam asks.

Dean lets his head fall back on the pillow and nods. He always has more trouble with speaking afterward, sunken too much in the _feeling_ of it all to scrape words up from his inside. Sam's hand circles over him, sparking dully in already sensitive-bordering-on-sore flesh. Dean sighs and pushes back into the touch, the sigh turning to a deeper thrum when Sam dips into the cleft to rub lightly over Dean's hole. It feels good, deep undulating pleasure waves that make him stretch and purr and go limp and surrender.

"C'mon," Sam says, straightening up. Dean cracks one eye to see Sam tip his head at the other bed. "Come sleep with me."

Hmmm. Even better. Sam lies down on the other bed and holds out his arms. Dean hums, rises, falls…and is caught.


End file.
